When she entered the shop, the small tuxedo cat, Benni, rubbed against her legs. Normally, she’d pick him up and give him pets while ordering her usual — a medium hot coffee with cream and a pack of Skittles. But today she barely managed a head rub before shuffling over to the counter.
“Morning, Manny. Can I get a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll?” She grabbed a fruit punch Pedialyte out of the fridge. “And this thing.”
Manuel, the owner, raised an eyebrow. “Damn girl, what happened to you?”
Cierra lowered her sunglasses with an unamused expression, which just made him grin harder.
“At least tell me you had a good time. I’m an old man now, I need to know what the kids are up to. C’mon, tell me what happened.”
“Pretty sure we’re the same age. And . . . bad date.”
“What? Oh, no. Want me to send one of my guys?”
She chuckled a bit, but quickly stopped, as that was enough to get the headache rolling. “Not necessary,Iwas the bad part.”
“Impossible.”
“Oh, possible.”
“Psh. Here, I’m adding a little ginger-orange-beet shot in here for you. Take it easy today.”
Cierra gathered herself. “Thanks, Manny. You’re the best.” Taking the little plastic baggy off the countertop, she made her way to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Back in the safety of Mia’s apartment, she took her goods to the front room and plopped down on the couch.
She checked her phone and saw quite a few unread messages. One was from Julian, asking her to let him know if she got into her apartment safely and if she was feeling all right. She foundthe thought of texting him back too mortifying for now, so she went to the next message. This one was from Mia, begging to hear how the date went.
Ugh, not now.
Cierra kicked up her feet on an ottoman and turned on Netflix for some proper hangover binge-watching. Unsurprisingly,Platedpopped up on her recommended watches, but the sight of the show name alone intensified the hangxiety already taking hold, adding to her internal shame meter. Yet another missed — no,failed— opportunity. But then her mind wandered to memories of watchingPlatedwith her dad in high school. It had been one of their favorite activities to do together.
One day you’re gonna be on that show, kiddo, he’d say.All that Kitchen Sink training.
Whatever, Dad, she’d reply, and lean into his shoulder on the couch.
It had been ten years since her dad had passed away. And while she had moved on to the extent she could, occasionally, moments like these struck like a flash storm.
Clicking the TV off, and blinking away tears, she switched gears to her favorite guilty pleasure — watching YouTube videos of a lesser-known vintage cooking show calledThe Galloping Gourmet. In grainy video quality, she saw a handsome man strutting in front of a live audience with a wide smile, longish hair, and sideburns typical of the late sixties. His British accent was swoon-worthy, and unlike some other shows, he was in constant dialog with the audience. He was vaguely posh but without the haughty attitude, lending to his appeal, and would often get completely off topic with the recipe he’d be cooking. Part chef, part sex symbol, part goofball — something about his presence was soothing, and Cierra always seemed to feel better after watching an episode. It was like she was in the kitchen withhim, whipping up savory creations in a carefree world of bliss, where the biggest thing that could go wrong was over-salting a casserole.
As she bit into her greasy breakfast sandwich, she paid no mind to the fatty droplets falling onto her old college hoodie; the healing effects were instant. She looked at the ruby-colored health tonic Manny had gifted her with skepticism, telling herself she’d do it later.
At the end of each taping, Graham — the galloping chef — would invite a guest to come onstage and dine with him. And while she knew she’d never have the opportunity to grace that on-stage table from a distant era, she still fantasized about how it’d be. The guest always looked so excited, and he always seemed so elated to share his meal with someone. The way she felt when watching the show, or suspected he felt when dining with a giggling audience member — it was nothing like the interactions she’d had at Terra.
A few hours later, having watched a couple more episodes and confessed to Mia about her drunken date disaster, Cierra finally worked up the courage to message Julian back. After that fiasco, she didn’t expect to hear from him ever again. But for the sake of her own conscience, she knew she had to say something.
Cierra: Hey, Julian, sorry for texting back so late. I’m really sorry about last night. I feel so embarrassed about everything. Thanks for making sure I got home safe.
Since she had his phone number, she found his Venmo account and sent him fifty dollars before tossing her phone aside as quickly as possible. It wasn’t her finest moment, but she was grateful that she had finally broken the seal and was feeling more confident about dating. For that afternoon at least, her British baking boyfriend was enough.
Mia had been light on details for the party: A former child celebrity might be there, and it was in the East Village — a trendier part of Manhattan filled with wine bars and matcha cafes.
Clueless on how to dress, Cierra had borrowed a silky orange tank from Mia that was cropped just below the belly button and scooped well below the collarbone. Paired with a long jean skirt, the warm colors of the outfit made her brown skin glow. And her curls, usually a chaotic mess, were tamed into a clip, with soft waves framing her face.
Once she’d finished with a swipe of lip gloss, Cierra stood in front of a full-body mirror and let out a small gasp at the sight of herself. Her hands gently smoothed over her hips; slowly, she tucked a tendril of hair behind an ear, with her eyebrows still high.
Having spent so long living in chef uniforms and loose athleisure, the sight of her own figure surprised her, realizing how much her clothes usually hid. Cierra had even let Mia give her a light smoky eye, making her almond eyes shine more than usual.
With a smug grin, Mia said, “Well, I’ll be damned.” She leaned proudly against the wall with a glass of wine, while Cierra stood in amazement at herself. Mia looked effortlessly cool in a baby-blue dress that extended to the ground, paired with designer sneakers and an oversized leather jacket. “See what happens when you listen to me?”
